


Civilian

by Zighana



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Growth, Shane Becomes A Better Person, Slow Burn, redemption fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zighana/pseuds/Zighana
Summary: AU: Shane, after his confrontation, is excommunicated from the group and has to fend for himself. Losing his sanity, he clings to a quiet accomplice and sees something he never thought he could ever attain: redemption. Shane/Michonne, Language, Violence, sexual content. I DO NOT OWN WALKING DEAD. ROBERT KIRKMAN DOES.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story off of fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10650202/1/Civilian
> 
> I'm gonna put the chapters here.

BANG.

Shane nearly drops to his knees. Rick stands over him, knife gripped so tight by his fist his knuckles turn white. The two men turned around to find the source of the gunshot.

Carl, barely old enough to grasp what is going on, stands feet away, gun pointed, eyes dead set but seeing nothing.

"Carl..." Rick begins, hands up to appease his son. Shane does the same thing, feeling a mix of emotions. Fear, anger, confusion, sadness, they warp inside his body so much he shakes. Who is Carl pointing the gun at?

"Is all that true Shane? Did you really do those things Dad said?"

He knows.

Shane licks his lips and tries to come to Carl, look into his eyes, explain himself.

Click.

Carl isn't having it.

"I did it for the good of the group. For you, Lori, and everyone-"

"Why did you kill Otis then, Shane? Why did you let him die?"

"He shot you. I wanted to avenge you-"

BANG.

The bullet hole in the grass told Shane and Rick that this isn't going to end well. Carl steadies his gun, eyes brimming with tears. The man that taught him how to fish, how to tie a knot, a man Carl aspired to be, is a cold-blooded liar and a murderer. A murderer who almost killed his dad.

Carl looked up to a monster.

"And you trying to kill Dad. How is that good for the group?" He gestures to Rick, who's eyes are focused on Shane with concentration.

Time seems to stop; two men are at the mercy of a gun wielding child with shattered dreams and conflicting emotions. One bad move and both could die. Shane inhales deeply, and tries to come to Carl.

"I did it for us, Carl. Rick, he doesn't have what it takes to survive."

"Is surviving worth killing innocent people? Worth being worse than the monsters that are chasing us? Worth losing people that used to look up to you? Love you?" Carl starts crying in earnest now, his body wracking in sobs and hiccups.

"Go away, Shane. Go away and never come back! I hate you, Shane! I hate you!" He fires another shot, this time the bullet grazes Shane's shoulder. That pain is nothing to the turmoil in Shane's soul.

First Lori, now Carl. Two people that were his world, his loves, and now they've bother turned against him. All for...Rick.

Rick cautiously steps towards Carl, calmly taking the gun from his hands. He wraps his arms around his son, burying his face in his hair, saying words Shane can't hear anymore. Carl clings to his father, crying even harder, while Rick strokes his back in soothing circles. When his eyes catches Shane's, they both knew it was over.

"Shane Walsh, I hereby declare you banned from Hershel's farm and our group. Here are your belongings and a map for your travel. May God be with you, for your sins have forever condemned you to this Hell."

Shane, bound at the wrists, hears Carol say over the chorus of birds soaring. The day was bright and sunny, but the forest ahead look foreboding and dark. A backpack with his trinkets lay at his feet, accompanied with an outdated map.

Rick saunters to Shane, green eyes filled with hatred and disappointment. Before he could say anything Shane is knocked to the ground by Rick's fist.

"That's for putting my family in danger," he hisses. Shane picks himself up from the ground and spits the blood in Rick's face.

"You are the danger, Rick." Shane replies. Rick wipes the blood off with the back of his hand and cuts the rope the bound Shane.

"You set foot on these quarters again, and you will be killed, no questions asked." Hershel announces, gun pressed firmly in Shane's back.

"Grab your shit and keep moving. You got a long journey ahead, boy. Go and don't you ever look back."

Shane grabs his bag and starts walking, the sun lighting his path.

He doesn't know where he's going, and he honestly doesn't care.

He can't stand the disappointment and hurt in Carl's features.


	2. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane battles with a guilty conscience.

It's been approximately six days since Shane left the group.

Though, no one has the luxury of keeping track of time nowadays.

Shane doesn't mind; he knows daytime is the place to scan the surroundings and find safe stomping grounds while nighttime is to snuff out any threats for easy sleep. Anything is a threat; he had no problem dispatching of a man and his family for their food and shelter. He considered sparing the children, but decided against it; they were too much of a hassle alive than they would be dead. He made sure they died quickly, quietly, and efficiently; he left their bodies laid out as an easy meal for any walker to come feed. He then got into their little caravan and drove off before any walkers could notice.

He didn't want to think about that family, no matter how hard he tried; the sickening crunch of walkers feeding on their corpses are too much for the seasoned ex-cop's ears. He didn't want to think about how happy and trusting they looked when he approached them. He didn't want to think about the small remains of their life before everything went to shit scattered all over the caravan: the photos, the mix CD's, the children's toys, the dog collar of the family dog that probably died in lieu of survival. He didn't want to think about the terrified faces of those three kids he had to kill, how gut-wrenching the sound of knife sinking into skull...

He snapped the little girl's neck, drowned the infant and stabbed the oldest son in the head; the most merciful thing he'd done was make sure each of them never got a chance to turn. He can still see their soulless eyes as they stare up at him in horror.

That image will stay with him for as long as he lived.

He kept driving, not knowing exactly what his destination should be. He knows he has to find one soon, lest he runs out of gas and he's stranded in nowhere. He still sees those children, still sees their soulless eyes stare back at him through the rearview mirror.

Carl is one of them.

The vehicle screeches to a halt.

It's been approximately six days since Shane left the group.

Since Carl has looked at him like a monster and hurt Shane in the worst way possible.

Monster, Carol spat with hatred.

I trusted you, Carl cried.

Why, Shane? Why?

Those words slosh into his mind like white noise, making him pound his head to get the voices to stop.

Monster is the predominant word that screams at him.

Monster, Monster, Monster…

The horrific massacre of an innocent family staring up at him as he looks over his handiwork...

Carl pointing the gun at him, ready to shoot for his lies and betrayal…

The rejection of Lori when he was slowly going off the deep end…

Otis's body being torn to shreds as the walkers ate him, his eyes and face shocked at his treachery…

Perhaps Shane is a monster after all.

The thought makes him laugh.

A monster they call him, a monster he shall be.

At least this monster has what it takes to survive.

A harsh banging jolts Shane out of his thoughts. A walker has spotted him and is trying to get in. He starts up the car and drives down the road, the walker stumbling to catch up with him.

Night fell very quickly; the harsh moon and deathly silence is what keeps Shane alert.

He takes refuge in the caravan that night, keeping his ear open for any possible intruders. It doesn't grant him very much sleep.

When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with the isolation of the group, the hurt look in Carl's eyes as his sins have finally come to light, and even the murders he have committed for his own survival. They taunt him with their eyes, how they look at him in judgment.

"Murderer…" Otis's mutilated corpse whispers.

"Adulterer…" Rick spits.

"Sinner…" Carol glares coldly.

"Liar…" Dale accuses.

"Traitor…" Daryl points his crossbow at him.

"Monster…" They all chorus. They chant monster in unison, the apparitions of the people he's killed joining them. Their chants get louder to the point of it deafening his ears.

"Shut up, please stop talking…"

Monster, Monster, Monster…

"Get out of my head, I'm begging you…"

Monster, Monster, Monster…

"Shut up, shut up, shut up…"

Monster, Monster, Monster…

Their chants become taunting, their laughter makes Shane sick. He pounds his head, trying to make his ears numb to the voices, but no avail. He's crying now, his head feeling like it is going to split open. He sees Lori come to him at his weakest hour, her face calm. She puts a hand to his cheek.

"Shane," She says, "What you've done was horrible and unspeakable. I can never forgive you, you are worse than the creatures that are trying to kill us."

"I'm not like that, Lori," Shane argues, "I'm only doing what it takes to survive. I'm not a monster, Lori, you have to believe me." He's crying even harder, burying his face in her chest to hide his shame. She pushes him away and holds up a mirror.

In his reflection, he sees himself infected, a walker showing blood and flesh dripping from his lips.

"Look in the mirror," Lori says, before vanishing into thin air. The mirror shatters, the shards attracting walkers everywhere to come. They seem to walk towards him, as if trying to eat him. Instead, they ignore him; they settle on the family he's killed instead.

"I'm nothing like you," He screams, but it's strangled in his throat. Instead, it's a death rattle. He tries to talk, but only rasping comes out. He tries to calm his fiery throat, only to feel nothing but cold, hard, skin. He tries to run, but finds he can only stumble. The strong stench of death fills his nostrils, and he knows.

He's one of them.

The rasping gets close to him, and he wakes to a walker stumbling towards him, desperate to reach him through the booby traps he's set up. Shane jumps to his feet and looks over his surroundings. It seems this one is the only one, but he knows if there's one, six will follow. He kills it quietly and leaves it, transfixed at how it desecrated the children's toys.

He can't breathe; this once roomy space feels tight and suffocating.

He needs to leave.

He bolts out the caravan, gun slapping against his hip in rhythm.

He's not like them.

He's nothing like them.

He'll never be like them.

That's all he tells himself as he runs.

The forest cuts through his skin but he doesn't care.

Get out, that voice screams.

Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout…

A walker seems to be on his heels, eager to feed. It's when he trips on a root and catapults the walker over him that he curses his luck.

The walker gains his footing and battles Shane, trying to nip at any visible flesh he has to offer. It gets on top of him and tries to eat. Shane fights all he could, but he feels there's no point. He's tired of fighting, of the voices in his head, of the sins that have haunted his mind.

He's alone, he's tired, and he's ready for death.

He closes his eyes and lets him.

SHULK.

Something rolls in the grass.

"Get up."

He opens his eyes.

A headless corpse falls over to his left, joining its head. A hooded figure stands over him, a glint of a bright metal reflecting the moonlight.

"I said, get up," it barks. Shane rolls to his right and stands. The figure takes the metal and slides it somewhere, the identity shown in a flash by the light.

"Wh…" he tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat.

"Move," the figure barks, "I don't have all night."

Why did you save me, Shane wants to ask, but nothing comes out.

He quietly follows.


	3. Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane learns a little more about his savior.

Shane has been walking with this cloaked stranger three days since his rescue, and so far he knows nothing about his savior other than the general. His savior is an African-American woman who is around his age, possibly younger. Her weapon of choice is a sword and it's clear she knows how to use it efficiently and quickly; she dispatched of seven walkers in a matter of seconds without so much as breaking a sweat. She walks with armless, toothless, emaciated walkers that are chained and submissive, a macabre use as luggage mules and pets. Shane found it strange until he discovered they make a great cover due to their smell and appearance; walkers can't tell man from biter once they blend together. She's useful in many ways, but there are a few things that set Shane on edge about her.

One, she's mute; she hasn't said a word to Shane aside from beckoning him to come with her. That becomes a problem because that makes her unpredictable; Shane can't tell if she's a threat or an easy kill. Shane can't get any decent analysis on this woman, can't get into her head because she's so often in it. Unpredictability agitates Shane; he needs to be in control and be in the know as to what's going to happen.

Two, she never even gave him her name. It tells him that there's no trust in this relationship. She's guarded, unwilling to accept new people who she deems are a threat. Even though Shane gave him his name, she still won't give him hers. She's smart, he'll give her that; trust is a thing that's earned nowadays, not granted. That tidbit is just another thing he'll have to work with. Before things went to shit, he could have just ran her fingerprints and looked her up via file, but those days of ease are gone. Guess he'll have to crack at it the old fashioned way.

Three, she never sleeps. Every night, she sits upright, sword clutched in her hand, eyes flickering back and forth, deep and slow breaths making her lithe frame expand and deflate with very little sound. Her eyes may droop, but the slightest movement makes her eyes open once more, alert and focused. The average human can't survive that long without going mad from exhaustion and an overworked body; the fact she's still standing and sane is baffling to the ex-cop. He offers to take watch and let her sleep, only to get the sword to the neck as a warning to back off and mind his business.

He does, but he watches her as she sits, never taking his eyes off her until sleep claims him. He wakes up alive and well, and knows she won't kill him in his sleep. She's trustworthy.

Four is her eyes. Her eyes are two pools of the blackest hue of brown, calm on the surface but hiding a dangerous storm underneath. They burn through Shane and he feels she knows every sin, every secret, every crime he's committed before he met her and it makes him feel guilty. Her eyes make him feel persecuted every time she stares at him, and yet he can't look away. They draw him in, captivating him until he stares at her like a fool and he catches himself only to start again. They take secrets out of his soul and in return give him a glimpse of hers; he knows there's pain, exhaustion, hopelessness, emptiness deep within her he can't help but identify with. In time she will tell him everything, and in time he will do the same.

If they can make it out alive, that is.

She stops walking, her arm extended as a warning. They have reached a gas station that's surrounded by walkers. They're clawing and biting their way in; perhaps there are a few travelers who've made noise and attracted them.

"We should head back. We don't want those geeks coming over here."

She looks at him, her mouth twisted like she'd eaten rotten fruit.

Without a warning, she saunters over to the walkers with her sword drawn.

Shane hears the loud swishing of metal to flesh and bodies are dropping. He, checking his boundaries, follows suit, his gun drawn.

It's useless; the woman managed to destroy most of them with her sword and various objects lying about. She's good, real good. The blood and guts splattering her frame deters any possible biters from feasting; they instead look to Shane and stumble towards them, only to be gunned down by his pistol.

Seeing that the coast is clear, she scans the perimeter for any more threats while Shane keeps an ear out for any signs of life within the gas station. No groaning or rasping; must be a good sign. He kicks the back door and enters, gun drawn and eyes straining for light in this dimly lit room.

He hears whimpers.

"H…help me. Some one…please…help me."

He follows the source and is shocked at what he sees.

A woman lies on the ground, bleeding out into the filthy limestone. The entry wound around her stomach is turning black and contains obvious indentations of teeth. She was bit, and is slowly turning.

A child sits in the corner, cowering and crying over what he's witnessing. The gun in his hand shows that he knew a bite equals a death sentence.

"Kill me," the woman moans out, "kill me, before I turn and hurt Jacob."

Shane draws his gun, ready to shoot.

"Please don't kill Mama. Please,"

"Sorry, kid," he shoots her right between the eyes, "I'm doing what needs to be done. She would've turned and she would've eaten you. Then both of you would have to be put out to open pastures."

The hooded woman enters the scene, sword drawn. She assesses the environment and demands Shane give answers with her eyes.

"Woman got bit. Probably what attracted the walkers. Put her down." He gruffly answers. "We could drag her body out for the geeks to eat. Make a good distraction while we raid the place for food and transportation. Hey kid,"

The little boy looks up. Shane is leaning on the wall, his gun aimed at the child.

"Are you to be trusted?"

The boy looked ready to piss himself. He's shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"A-A…are you going to kill me too?"

"That's what we're figuring out," Shane answers, "it won't make sense to leave you here by your lonesome if you're weak. And it certainly won't help if you come with us and you won't pull your weight. If anything, shooting you would be the best thing out of this situation."

He cocks the gun and his finger is itching to squeeze the trigger. The boy cries even harder, begging Shane to spare him, to leave him be. Shane hears none of it; dead weight is lethal nowadays. This child is weak and pathetic; the walkers would tear him to shreds the minute he sets foot outside. Killing him quickly would be the most merciful thing he could ever do.

"Time to meet your Mama, kid." He aims the gun, is about to pull the trigger until he's pinned to the floor by a boot with a blade pressed against his chin. His savior is looking down at him, her eyes frightening him.

"That's enough." She spits out. She kicks the gun away and walks over to the boy. She says something, and the boy is nodding his head. Within seconds, the child is on her back and she sheaths her sword.

"Come on, we need to get moving."

Shane watches this spectacle and thinks, loud as day,

Children are her soft spot.


	4. Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane takes shelter.

"Where are we going, Samurai Lady?"

Shane grumbles low in his throat. This is the fifth time this hour he's been asking the same question. Part of him wants to duct tape the boy but restrains himself; that boy has been latching on to his Samurai Lady and she's awfully protective of him like a Mama Bear. All it takes is for Shane to hurt one hair off that boy's head and she'll slice and dice him like he was yesterday's sushi.

Instead he settles for snarling at the boy and he in turn sticks his tongue out. The little punk…

"Shane."

He stops in the motion of giving the kid the finger and looks up.

"Yeah, Mama Bear?" He smirks at her. Her eyes seem to spark with amusement.

"We need a place to rest before nightfall. Jacob is tired and we need to keep him safe."

He nods in response, even though he wants to tell this woman that they would've moved farther along had they killed the kid and kept it moving. He gets a good look at Jacob: Dark brown curly locks, hazel eyes, skin a rich shade of tan. He looks about six years old, maybe older; he wears filthy jeans and an orange shirt two sizes too big, stuffed into a dirty army jacket. His sneakers are peeling at the soles; Shane will have to either fix them or run to a supply store to find some new ones.

Jacob sucks his thumb, and Shane will admit, he looks sort of cute.

He actually wanted a kid of his own; he always imagined two boys and a girl, running amok while he looks on from his front porch. He thought he could build that with Lori and Carl, which didn't exactly end well. Their memory leaves an awful taste in his mouth.

They find a Volkswagen that's seen better days and, after getting rid of the walkers trapped in it, took residence there. Mama Bear lies in the backseat with Jacob, stroking his hair while Shane digs around for keys and proper weapons. Finding all that's needed, he locks all windows and lies in the front seat, eyes flickering back and forth in their surroundings. They're in the forest, civilization hours away. The biting cold makes Jacob shiver and sniffle, inching closer to Mama Bear for warmth. They have no blankets; the only sources of heat are their jackets and body mass. Shane looks over his shoulder and frowns at the two struggling to get warm. He can't have these two dying of frostbite.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls over to the backseat, his body pushing Jacob to the center.

"C'mere."

They obey, embracing Shane while he throws his jacket over them. The heat comes within minutes, the once shivering boy becoming cozy and comfortable. It didn't take long for Jacob to then fall asleep. When the soft snoring fills the duo's ears, her eyes flicker over to his.

"That was nice of you," she says.

"Had to. Didn't want anyone dying of hypothermia."

"You do know I've been roughing it for so long I know how to make my own heat."

"I don't know anything about you. I don't even know your name."

"Because I don't trust you."

"You should. Right now, we have a kid in this. You're going to have to trust me at some point."

He's got her.

She crinkles her nose in annoyance, and finally, she says,

"Michonne."

"Michonne," he drawls out, his tongue caressing every syllable.

"Don't expect us to be the best of friends. Once Jacob is safe, once we find somewhere safe and devoid of walkers, we go our separate ways."

"I have a question, Michonne," Shane leans over to her.

"If you don't trust me and want nothing to do with me, why did you save me?"

"I have my reasons." With that, she turns on her side and he hears nothing from her. Shaking his head, he sits upright in the backseat and takes watch for the night.

The next morning Shane awoke to Jacob's shrieks.

Startled, he jumps out of his spot and assesses the damage. Michonne is gone, and three walkers are clawing their way in the car. He maneuvers his way to the front seat and finds the keys.

"Buckle up, kid." Shane warns.

Starting the car, he prays he has enough gas to get the hell out of there. The car sparks to life, and Shane floors it. Jacob screams even louder, his hands clutching his seatbelt. He turns the wheel, finds the biters, and charges towards them. When the sickening crunch of their bodies greets Shane's ears, he deems it a victory. Turning the wheel, he notices he's making a macabre donut wheel with their intestines; some of them are getting caught in his back wheel. Shit.

Shane is stuck; get out of the car and leave Jacob alone so he could clear the wheel, or stay in the car like sitting ducks until Michonne gets back. Where is she, anyway?

"Where the fuck is that sword-swinging bitch?" He grits out under his breath. As if on cue, the door flings open and there's Michonne, bloody and bruised. Her pets trail behind her and Shane can piece together what happened: she went hunting while they slept.

"Wh-?"

"I went looking for rabbit and gotten attacked by a rogue survivor." She explains, her sword held up for emphasis. She flicks it clean and sheaths it. Jacob runs into her arms, sobbing.

"I thought they got you," he wails against her stomach, "I thought they got you!"

Her eyes flicker to the car. Intestines and the rasping of mutilated walkers draw her attention and it riddles Shane with embarrassment.

"Who's going to clean this up?"

They traveled for what felt like ages. Michonne drove while Jacob sits in the passenger while Shane and her pets sit in the back. His thoughts are blank; his only focus is the scenery and the dwindling houses. He looks to his new companions and a miniscule sense of calm washes over.

He can start over.

"Where are we headed?"

"Cul de sac a few miles ahead." She responds.

"You think that's safe? All those houses could mean there are higher chances of those geeks coming. Or some enemies who don't want new company."

"We find threats, we take them out. Simple as that."

"You think me and you could take all of them out? With a kid as dead weight?"

"Positive."

They pull up to the cul de sac and Michonne draws her sword. Jacob stands beside her, clutching a pipe he found in the trunk. Shane cocks his gun and runs through the homes; eyes and ears open for any sounds or the sight of rotting flesh. He settles on a blue home and motions for Michonne and Jacob to follow suit.

The home seemed to have been well-prepared; booby traps litter the ground, weapons and barred up windows blocked out any chance of sunshine. Jacob is scooped up and placed on Michonne's back and they trail far behind Shane.

Shane peels the corner and finds the kitchen. The cabinets are already sifted through; already perished food rots and mold. Disappointed, Shane makes his way upstairs. The bathroom is stocked with first aid kit and aspirin, though the aspirin is expired. He crams it in his bag anyway. He was finishing raiding he heard a scream.

Running to the source, what he finds makes his stomach twist.

Jacob stands at the door of a children's bedroom, his feet rooted to the ground. Two kids, around his age, lie in their beds, decomposing. Maggots and flies eat away at their skin, the strong smell rendering Jacob weak. His knees buckle, and he vomits. Michonne finds him, and the scene makes her stuck as well.

Shane springs into action.

"Don't look, don't look." He mutters in their ears, shielding their eyes. He closes the door and drags the two away from the room. They weren't supposed to see that. Ever.

"Andre," he hears Michonne whisper against his skin, "Andre, I'm so sorry."

This Andre fellow peaks Shane's curiosity, but he pushes it down.

He crouches in front of them, trying to get their attention.

"Look," he begins, but he doesn't know what to say. They'd just seen dead bodies of children; even a seasoned cop can't prepare for seeing that.

"That's just the world we live in now."

The old world they knew and love is gone.

Right now, death, disease, and struggle for survival are the norm.

They have no more time to grieve, to be shocked at the brutality they're forced to live in.

They have to survive.

"We have to not let this get to us. The parents probably snuffed them out because they were too weak-willed to make it. Let this be a reminder of what happens when you won't keep fighting. We have to move on and struggle."

Jacob's hiccups turn into full sobs. He clings to Shane, his tears and snot soaking his front.

"I'm scared," he bawled, "I don't want to die."

"We're all going to die, one day." Shane answers.

"We're waiting and fighting it out until our time comes. We need to tough it out and make sure the biters won't do us in before our clock runs out."

He look s down at Jacob.

"I'm going to teach you how to shoot, hunt, and kill. You need to learn how to make it on your own. Samurai Lady and I can't be around forever to protect you."

The boy nods against him.

Shane looks over to Michonne. She stays rooted to the ground, her eyes stuck on that door. Pained memories flash before her, memories and tragedies Shane will never know.

"Michonne?" he asks.

"Michonne," he tries again, adding more bass in his voice. He reaches out and grabs her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"You got to stay with me, Michonne. You can't leave us right now."

"Andre," her voice murmurs.

She closes her eyes tightly and takes deep breaths. She turns to face the two males. Shane's eyes read worry and concern.

"I'm okay." She answers. She draws her sword and walks downstairs. Shane and Jacob follow suit, their eyes scouting for any potential dangers.

They find Michonne outside the home, greeted by seven biters, stumbling over to her. She hacks one into ground meat and uses the intestines to restrain another one while she impales it with her sword. One comes behind her; she jerks her sword and slices through its head. Three down, four to go.

SHULK. SWISH. THOK. WH-PWAK.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

She flicks her sword clean and sheaths it. She takes deep breaths, looks over to Shane and Jacob and says,

"Let's get moving."

Shane takes the wheel this time, often looking over his shoulder to check on the passengers. Michonne is off in her thoughts, her stern look never changing. Jacob, though petrified at the chained pets that carry their luggage sitting next to him, tries in vain to converse with them. Shane looks back to the open road, seeing another town up ahead. Heavily gated, guards standing posted with guns and arrows, walkers being gunned down in seconds.

He has a bad feeling about this.

"We're turning around."

Despite the obvious protest, he steers the wheel and tries to make a U-turn. Something went wrong; all he heard was the loud pop and hiss of his back tires. Someone either shot at them or they ran over some barbed wire. He hears shouts, guns slapping against flesh. They've spotted them and they're coming.

"We're going to roll out here and we're going to take out as many as we can," he barks. Jacob grabs his pipe, Michonne her sword, and Shane his gun.

"1…"

The noises get closer.

"2…"

They all unlock their doors.

"Now!"

They tumble out into the grass. Michonne stands and charges at the assailants. Shane throws Jacob on his back and shoots. Jacob throws his pipe at one of them and shouts in victory when he hit his mark. They did the best they could, but they were outnumbered. One of the guards, a tall Hispanic man, inched toward them with his rifle.

"We don't want no trouble," he begins, "We just want to know who you are."

"I don't believe you." Shane snarls, "How do I know you ain't gon' kill us and take our shit?"

"We have plenty of shit," the man chortles, "We just need to know if you're a threat."

The two men size each other up, a proverbial pissing contest evident. The tension broke when a whistle cracks through the air.

"Well lookie here. Officer Friendly's friend has come and brought company. A nigger samurai and a half-breed brat."


	5. For What It's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Chat with The Governor.

Darkness swallows Shane whole. He hears voices, but cannot see; the burlap sack blocks his vision. Michonne and Jacob are not nearby; Shane fears these bastards killed them and are moving on to him.

Boots circle around him in slow, calculated strides. He feels eyes burning into his back, smell the scent of generic-brand hand soap. He feels hands scratching a beard and clearing a throat.

"So," the boots speak, "what brought you to my territory?"

Light and colors nearly blind Shane. He takes in his surroundings and sees a tall, white man, well into his late forties/early fifties. His piercing blue eyes almost make him squirm.

"We never intended to. Turned around and you sons a' bitches popped our back tires." He keeps it short and sweet: enough to explain himself but enough to not give everything away.

"Well, from what I've heard, you went into our territory, rolled out of your car like you were the military, and took out five of my great men. Hate to say I'm pissed. And impressed."

He crouches down to Shane, their eyes meeting.

"I could use your military skill, your leadership, and even your samurai wife. How would you like to work for me?"

"You're going to let a stranger work for you? You obviously lack common sense." He chortles.

"We were all once strangers. I'm no spring chicken when it comes to recruits. If I find someone who's not to be trusted, their stay in my town will be terminated. Right now, we have food, water, electricity, security, and a community we need to protect. You'd be a fool not to accept this offer. Think about your family, think about your woman…"

"She ain't my woman," Shane barked, "She's just someone I travel with who brought a goddamn brat along."

The man nods in understanding.

"Well, a woman and child roughing it outdoors versus living in luxury with every need tended to sounds like an obvious difference, no? I'm sure the woman would love living here and not have to worry when the next meal is coming or where to sleep for the night. We even have a nice school here; the boy can go to school and learn the basics of ABC's, Arithmetic, and science."

"We were doing fine on our own. She ain't some dainty flower that needs rescuing. And the boy needs to learn how to fend for himself, not learn some useless math or how to spell 'cat'."

"I understand that. But don't you think the woman and child would think otherwise? Here, in Woodbury, you can have a fresh start. They can have a chance to start over and live like they used to do back in the old days. The only payment is you working for me."

"I don't work for anyone anymore. I'm sick of following someone else's orders, conforming to someone else's rules. Right now, I'm working and living for me, the brat, and the woman. Every decision I make will be for the good of my group and mine alone."

"You still can, here. What if I let you rule over the new recruits? Merle isn't exactly the best pill to swallow with his…Southern charm."

He snorts.

"I don't trust you. You look like you could shake my hand and gut me with the other."

"Hmmm…" Before Shane could react, the man's fist collides with his face.

"I respect you staying true to your beliefs, but right now, I could actually just gut you. And I don't think you'd want that."

His knife comes into view.

"You're in my territory, in unknown waters that could swallow all of you whole. You're staying here, following my rules, if you don't want to drown. Catch my drift?"

The knife is scratching a sliver of flesh off Shane's Adam's apple.

"We're prisoners here, aren't we?"

"Not prisoners, heavily monitored guests who can leave when they choose but will face severe consequences. Sound fair?"

They were being held captive. Shane's eyes greet the man's and he fights the urge to tear out of his bindings and pummel the man into the ground.

"You have a quaint little home three minutes from here. Michonne and Jacob will be waiting for you."

Just as Shane is about to ask how he knew their names, he feels a burst at the side of his head and then, darkness.

It's been roughly eight weeks since Shane, Michonne, and Jacob settled into the new…normal. Shane goes to work killing walkers that come near the gates and trains recruits, while Michonne stays at their home tending to Jacob. He should feel happy that he and his companions are safe, that they are not under the constant threat of flesh-eaters and survivors, but he isn't satisfied. He's forced to conform under someone's heel, to abide by rules he'll never agree with. And God forbid he watches those…gladiator fights as means of entertainment.

The Governor is by far the most hated man that is on Shane's shit-list, with Rick ranking #1. He's hiding numerous skeletons in his closet, hiding glaring flaws Shane can sniff out. Michonne can sense it too; she's been planning to leave this place since they'd gotten here. They've been putting it off since Jacob is enjoying the change of pace. He's already going to school and making friends; it'd be cruel to yank him back into danger when he's just getting used to a safe environment. But now, it's no excuses. They need to get out of here and quickly; they can no longer be prisoners here.


	6. Bad Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane battles with his morality.

_"Are you the good guy or bad guy?" Jacob asks Shane innocently. He's tucked in his bed, ready for slumber after being read a bed time story, watching Shane as the man sits wide-legged in his chair, placing Thumbelina on the shelf where it belonged._

_"I'm whatever the world wants me to be. Sometimes you have to be the good guy, but most of the time, you have to be the bad guy. In this world, there's no room for good men. Good men get killed, and that leaves behind the bad ones." He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Jacob's eyes light up, insisting on an explanation. Shane continues._

_"I know that I will never be a good man. I will always be a bad man. I've done too many things, killed too many good people." He laughs a bitter laugh._

_"You know what I think?" Jacob pipes up._

_"I think bad men can become good ones if they try hard enough." Jacob then turns on his side._

_Shane watches him sleep, thinking about what he's said._

_Can bad men…really change if they tried?_

_Shane has tried. Tried to do right by Lori and raise her son while Rick was away. He's tried to be Rick's friend and be there by his side when he got shot. Tried to do right by Carol by beating the shit out of Ed for laying a finger on her and any woman in the future. Tried to do right by Carl by being the father he needed…_

_His trying wasn't enough. It cost him a family, a good friend. The horrors of innocent children's faces as he's killed them all in an attempt of mercy._

_Could he really be a good man? Are his sins going to wash away if he's tried hard enough to redeem them?_

_"Ain't enough trying in the world to right all my wrongs, kid." He muses to the slumbering boy. The window's draft makes Jacob shiver. Instinctively, Shane covers the boy with the blanket and adds another. His hands stop at Jacob's unruly curls and swallows the lump in his throat. He's sleeping soundly, oblivious and trustful._

_He'd always wanted a son._

_"You think I'm a good man?" Shane asks the boy, his throat catching. "You think…could I…could I become a good man?"_

_His thumb tucks a curl behind the boy's ear. It took him a second to notice his tears dotted his cheeks._

_"Dammit." He curses, hastily wiping them away._

_"I need someone…to tell me…that I'm good. Tell me I'm good. Tell me I'm good enough." The tears fall faster than he can stop them. before he knew it, he's quietly sobbing, at the mercy of a sleeping child who's oblivious to his suffering._

_"Tell me I'm good, Lori. Tell me I'm good."_

_"Shane."_

_He jolts. Wiping his tears away, he steels himself when he turns around. Michonne stands at the doorway, confusion wrought on her face. Her grip on her katana loosens as they lock eyes._

_"What the hell is going on?"_

_"Am I a bad man, Michonne?" He asks. Michonne relaxes. She eyes him, jaw tightening._

_"Get out of Jacob's room. I'll keep watch tonight." She gestures him out, and with his tail tucked between his legs, leaves._

_They haven't talked since that night._

~~~~~

There have been many times in Shane's life where he has to decide whether he's the good guy or the bad guy. Which lie will he tell himself whenever he does something his fellow man will frown upon.

They don't see this world is means of survival. It's kill or be killed, be prey or predator. There's no room for gray areas. Everything Shane does, he does for survival. He's made for this world; trained for this world back when he was a mere soldier fighting overseas to keep this ungrateful country safe. Back when he tortured infidels for information, gunned down suicide bombers and jumped out of airplanes, praying that he'll die a hero.

He flashes back to his days in the barracks, watching his comrades clutch onto photographs of their loved ones, their reasons for living, and having no emotion other than envy. They have people waiting for them, people that care, while Shane has no one but an alcoholic father, a cocaine-addicted mother who weaves in and out of his life like smoke, and a best friend that seems to have the life he's always wanted but takes it for granted. And an ex-high school sweetheart that's moved on to date his best friend, to add salt in the wounds. He has no one, nothing, no reason to keep living.

He watches as those meaningful people die around him while he survives, God's punishment for being so worthless. He comes home, relays fabricated stories of glory to anyone that'll listen while ignoring that his comrades will be coming home to their families in dog tags and broken hearts while he keeps living. He survives, watches the good men die off while he remains.

When the world went to shit, he's still here, surviving, thriving, making a name for himself as a hero, a fucking hero, saving his group and fighting while Rick wastes away in a hospital, probably dead. Just when he has a reason to live…Rick comes and takes it away.

"Come out, Shane. I know you're out here. You're outnumbered, you ain't got defenses, and night sure as hell ain't on your side since the biters come out to play. If you come out and give up the others, we won't have to kill you."

Eat shit, Shane muses. Ain't no way in hell he'd sell Michonne and Jacob down the river, even if he knew where they were.

They escaped three days ago, in the dead of night. If they hadn't been ambushed, they wouldn't have to scatter and Shane wouldn't be praying for their safety. They'd be together, roughing it in a caravan of their ammo, as planned. But someone tipped them off; if he finds out who did it they'll taste his fist personally.

They'll be fine: Michonne has her sword, she'll protect Jacob with her life. He knows this. He'll keep telling himself this until it comes true and his brain will beg him to quit thinking it.

They're safe. That's all that matters.

They're safe.

They're safe.

They're safe.

He has to keep moving.

He makes a break for it, cutting through the woods and zipping past bullets by the skin of his teeth, his expertise in the military working their benefits.

There's an abandoned cabin not too far from here, if he could just—

BANG.

His left leg buckles and he topples over. Fuck.

"I got him, I got him!" a voice calls out excitedly. It sounds like a boy, no younger than 14. Footsteps crunch closer and he crawls into the underbrush, shielded by leaves. Grabbing a sharp stick, he lies on his stomach and waits.

The teen boy twirling his gun walks where his body used to lie, his blood leaving a trail to the underbrush. Before the boy could shout his location, Shane grabs the boy's ankle and yanks him to the grass, dragging him into the underbrush. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he peeks out of his hiding space. Lanterns are coming closer. Shit.

"If you wanna live, you'd shut the fuck up right now, kid." He hisses. The boy doesn't listen, flailing and making noise with the leaves.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he finds his hand clutching his throat, thumb pressing against the trachea. The boy struggles for breath, clawing at Shane's hand but no avail. His eyes roll in the back of his head and it's clear he's losing consciousness. Shane adds more weight until he feels his trachea break. The boy stops struggling, his hands falling limply at his sides. Shane looks at the boy and nearly breaks down.

The boy's face is forever frozen in horror, staring right through him.

He looks like Jacob.

"I'm sorry." He whispers to the child corpse. His fingers slowly lower his eyelids. After sliding a knife through his skull, he lays the boy to rest in the underbrush.

He sits by the corpse, observing it, fighting the lump in his throat.

"Are you the good guy or bad guy?"

"I'm the bad guy." Shane answers, before breaking down into soft sobs.

"I'm the bad guy."


	7. Colony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane finds a new group.

The sharp roar of cicadas isn't the only thing waking Shane from his slumber. He tries to move his neck, but finds he can't move it. Instead, he feels rope dig into his flesh, warning him if he made any sudden movements he could strangle himself. Opening his eyes, he sees a barrel of a gun pointed right at him.

"He's awake! The man's awake!"

Shane groans; his throat is begging for water.

He tries to piece together what had happened the night before; he does remember hiding, he does remember the sharp crackle of firewood, and a burst of pain in the back of his head.

He looks down to the best of his ability.

His feet are standing on a makeshift stool, his hands bound in front of him.

He looks up.

A rope hanging from a seemingly stable tree branch is most likely the one that's wrapped around his neck. Slipknot, if he remembers correctly.

The people that put him in this predicament rush to him, three men and one woman, who appears to be pregnant. They have their guns drawn on him, even though all of them knew a man that's life is literally one false step away from it ending doesn't need much more security.

"Water." He manages to get out.

"We don't give water to prisoners. Especially ones who pose a threat." The pregnant woman says, her gun drawn.

"Francine. Give the man some water. He's been unconscious for three days."

Shane's eyes widen.

Three days. He'd been out for three days…

Questions buzz through his mind but those questions went on the backburner when his mouth is flooded with water. He takes as much as they can give, cursing his greedy body for gulping and slurping up every drop he could from the water canteen.

"I hope Pete got a good reason for keeping you. You're a lot more trouble than you're worth." One of the men said. He's a scrawny man, 103 pounds soaking wet donned in military gear that hangs off his body to compensate.

Shane does a mental scan of everyone. He could take G.I. Scrawny, the pregnant woman he could snap her neck without breaking a sweat, but the other two, who are roughly the same stature and size as Shane, could be a bit of a challenge. It doesn't help that his body is weakened from the lack of food and water for the past few days.

A new man joins the group, arms full of crates that have 'FOOD' stamped on them. He's the same build as Shane, with a muscular body sculpted from the military no doubt. He's got dark brown eyes and hair that swoops to a curl that dangles in front of his face.

Shane can't take his eyes off the strange man. He's not like the other people he'd come across. He's not suspicious of him, he's not cold or dead inside. He's…trusting. Friendly, even, despite the circumstances. Hell, when the man looks up at him he smiles.

"Glad to see you've come to." He says.

"My name is Pete. I know you have plenty of questions, and I'm more than happy to answer them."

"How did I get here." Shane rasps.

"You were passed out. Exhaustion, I think. My team wanted to leave you behind, but…I couldn't do that. So, I took you in. I'd hope that you won't make me regret this decision."

"Am I being held hostage?"

"That's all up to you. You can't do much damage; you're weak, exhausted. Roughing it alone at the rate you're going and you could die."

Shane inhales. Not again.

"What do you want."

"You look like you could be an asset to our crew. We work better in numbers."

"I don't do alliances. I don't join groups. Not anymore."

"Everyone has their story. Tell me how you got here."

"The people that I was once with. They're gone. We split up running from Woodbury."

"What's that?"

"It's this…town, that pretends everything is milk and honey when it's not. It's like a…1984 nightmare."

"What is he talking about?" The pregnant woman looks to Pete for answers.

"He's referring to a Big Brother-esque type of deal. Whoever's in charge wants to keep everyone in line and got eyes everywhere." G.I. Scrawny interjects.

"The man in charge goes by the name The Governor. He's got foot soldiers all around this area. They're looking for me and my group and if they catch us…" Shane stops himself.

"When you meet him, don't trust him. Don't you ever trust him…"

"Why are you telling us this? You have no reason to help us. You're basically our prisoner." Francine cuts in.

"I'm bargaining. Information for information. I tell you who to avoid to save your skin, and you tell me who you are." Shane replies.

"I'm Pete, and this is my brother Mitch." He points to G.I. Scrawny, who glares.

"We are assembling a team of survivors. We're initially planning on heading to Washington. There's a rumor going around about a scientist who's working on a cure to the virus. We find him and, hopefully we could put an end to his hell."

That's the dumbest idea Shane had ever heard, and he's heard plenty of them. They are risking their lives, over something that will never exist?

"You're wasting your time." Shane says.

"How can you be sure?" Pete retorts.

"You're going off on hope and a dream. That shit will get you killed."

"Well what about you, stranger? What are you doing?"

"Surviving. Surviving for as long as I can."

"Don't you think that's a 'hope and a dream'?"

"That's being realistic. I'm not chasing some magic man that doesn't exist."

"Look, we can talk beliefs and motives for staying alive till the cows come home. But you're on borrowed time. Any second that exhaustion is going to set in and you're going to hang yourself once your body gives up the fight. So, either you tell us if we could trust you or we could leave you right where you stand." Mitch interrupts.

As if on cue, he feels his knees buckle.

"You're telling me to join you or die." Shane says.

The cicadas freeze their chirping.

"Don't think of it like that. Think of it as you being part of a group, but have to deal with the initiation process."

"I could kill you."

"That you could. But we outnumber you. We can protect you, help you survive."

"Why me?"

"Because," Pete walks to him cuts the rope from the branch, and catches Shane when he falls. Locking eyes, he says, "in the world of monsters, every civilian is worth saving. Including the ones who served." He eyes the military tattoo tucked underneath Shane's bicep, and it's then Shane knew.

Pete saw the soldier in him.

Pete holds out his hand for Shane to take. Eyeing him, Shane sees that trusting nature, that comradery.

Against his better judgment, he takes his hand.

Maybe they can help him track down Michonne and Jacob.


End file.
